


build you a cathedral out of nothing but the rafters

by fits_in_frames



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-05-01 19:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19183765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: A missing scene from Episode 6, or, What Happened After Tadfield.





	build you a cathedral out of nothing but the rafters

**Author's Note:**

> _gonna build you a cathedral out of nothing but the rafters_  
>  _'tween the stars, 'tween the stars, 'tween the stars, 'tween the stars_  
>  {josh ritter // lighthouse fire}
> 
> So [fabrega](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/) pointed out that [Crowley has the bird statue from the church in 1941 in his flat in 2019](http://etriva.tumblr.com/post/185415492761/so-i-was-watching-the-scenes-that-took-place-in). I sat down to write a different fic, and this just kind of poured out instead. Rated T for language. Huge thanks to fabrega and [pie_is_good](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pie_is_good) for beta-reading <3

In all their thousands of years on Earth, they never had they felt the passage of time so acutely as they did in Crowley's flat after Tadfield. They came up with The Plan on the bus back to London, and decided that if they were already in trouble, and if Aziraphale had nowhere else, they might as well go to the same place.

This was how they found themselves sitting at opposite ends of Crowley's angular and not-very-comfortable sofa. Swapping too soon, before Adam's decisions took effect, would be a mistake. Drinking was ruled out because neither of them could guarantee they'd remember to sober up in time. Chatting seemed pointless: The Plan was all hammered out, _hey how about that bit where we saved the world_ didn't really cut it, and what else were they going to talk about?

And so, the several hours that stretched out in front of them may as well have been a sober, silent eternity.

After several awkward minutes, Crowley stood up.

"Tea?" he offered, already walking towards the kitchen.

"Please," Aziraphale answered, not sure if Crowley heard him.

Aziraphale decided to have a look around. He had been in the flat a few times over the couple of decades that Crowley had lived there. Those years felt like a blink, honestly, and Aziraphale could only distinguish the occasions of his visits by the change in decor. Now, it was sparser than ever, even with the lush greenery tucked away in the corner. Down the one hallway was that gaudy statue of the wrestling angels (he shook his head, slightly disappointed, slightly amused, as he always did) but when he glanced down the other hallway, there was something new. Well, not new, strictly speaking, but it hadn't been there the last time he was here. It took a few seconds, but he recognized it, and felt his eyes go wide. 

Crowley's voice and footsteps echoed closer and closer to him. "I only have the one--" He stopped, and Aziraphale looked at him, then back at the statue of the bird with outstretched wings, then back at Crowley. When he looked back the second time, Crowley was grinning very, very widely.

Next thing Aziraphale knew, Crowley's arm was draped across his shoulders like a scarf. "You know what that is?" he said, barely above a whisper.

"Of course," Aziraphale replied, as Crowley's arm curled, nearly wrapping around his neck. "I just didn't realize you went back to get it. Where has it been all these years?"

"Oh, uh," Crowley stammered, loosening his grip slightly. "I didn't, actually. There was an auction a few years back. Some veterans' organization."

Aziraphale turned around so fast he nearly knocked Crowley over. "You won it in a _charity auction_?" he said, beaming.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Yes, all right, angel. If you insist on calling it that."

"And you didn't cheat, did you?"

"Well, only a little bit." Aziraphale's face fell slightly. "I may have influenced the outcome. But I did pay for it." A small smile returned to Aziraphale's face, and he turned back to face the statue. "Paid top dollar, actually," Crowley muttered.

A thought suddenly occurred to Aziraphale, and he was about to speak again when a screaming whistle broke the moment.

"Ah shit! That'll be the tea." Crowley strode off to the kitchen again, leaving Aziraphale alone with the statue. After a bit of clinking, he returned, sunglasses removed and mug in hand.

"Oh, you aren't having any?" Aziraphale said as he took the warm mug that said _A Case of the Mondays_ on it in a bold font.

"Nah," Crowley said, shaking his head in that slightly off-kilter way. "I only have the one mug anyway. Not too often that I have someone come 'round for tea."

"Right. Thank you."

"Eh, it's nothing," Crowley replied, and started to walk back towards the sofa. "Shall we?"

"I was thinking, maybe, we could stay over here for a bit." Aziraphale took a sip of his tea; it had honey and lemon, just the way he liked it.

"Oh, should I move the sofa?" Crowley called from the other room, already dragging it over, its legs scraping loudly against the floor, the sound echoing throughout the flat.

"No, I think just some pillows should work." The scraping stopped abruptly, and a few moments later, Crowley arrived with his arms full of four cushions he had clearly just removed from the sofa.

"These are all I've got."

Aziraphale smiled. "They will be fine."

Crowley tossed three cushions to Aziraphale, and then sunk down onto the remaining one next to him, legs splayed and one hand up. Aziraphale made a pleased sound and placed his mug in Crowley's upturned hand, then proceeded to arrange his cushions very carefully. Crowley took a sip of the tea, immediately grimaced and stuck out his tongue. _Too sweet._ Once Aziraphale was seated, cozy and cross-legged in his small nest, he took the mug back with both hands and took a long drink from it. His thought from before resurfaced, and he felt slightly emboldened from the tea.

"You know," he started, "that night, in the church with the Nazis and the books. That was, um." He paused, faltering. Words were usually easy for him, especially with Crowley, but this was something he had never told anyone, and thus it was unexpectedly difficult. He steadied himself and tried again. "Well, that was the night I, um. You know."

Before he could say anymore, Crowley cut him off. "I do," he said. "That's why I paid so much for the statue," he added, almost under his breath.

Aziraphale sighed, relaxing instantly. "I _am_ dreadfully sorry that it took me so long," he said, looking away pointedly.

Crowley bumped his head against Aziraphale's side. "You were worth the wait," he said, and grinned when Aziraphale looked down at him and smiled back.

They sat in silence for a long moment, one sipping and one sprawling, both looking intently down the hall.

"Do you think it'll work?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale gave a small shrug and licked his lips absently. "I hope so. We don't have a Plan B."

"Right, well," Crowley said as he wriggled his way over so his head was resting on Aziraphale's thigh. "If this is my last night, I'm glad I at least get to spend it with you."

Aziraphale made a sound of agreement into his mug, then drained it. "The feeling is mutual, my dear," he said, and rested one hand on Crowley's chest.

(This was how they stayed, quiet and comfortable and slightly tangled, until dawn.)


End file.
